**
Marcus walked in later and filmed us as we sat around and provided action by chomping on sugary pastries and downing caffeine. After we finished two donuts apiece Hondo closed the box and turned to put it in the file cabinet behind his desk.
A shadow through the window by the office door caught my eye, and as the door opened, I saw the edge of a black cowboy hat.
I jerked the side desk drawer open and grabbed for the Walther as John Wesley stepped into the office. Hondo closed t
he file cabinet with a bang and John Wesley turned toward him.
My hand came up from the drawer and I leveled it at the cowboy, “Freeze!”
John Wesley looked at me and his mouth under the big moustache widened into a smile.
I was holding a blue plastic fish.
He looked at me, “What are you, some kinda clown detective?”
I put the fish on my desk and said, “Why don’t you tell us how we can help you?”
He thought that was funny. “Boys, Ah got mah orders.”
Hondo turned and Marcus froze against the wall, camera still on his shoulder. John Wesley said to Hondo, “Put yore hands flat on top of the desk. Move ‘em and I’ll kill ya.” He said it without showing a weapon.
My shoulder holster was in the closet, but Hondo wore his. I slipped my hand around my coffee cup and said, “Here, how about some coffee with us before you get to it.”
He turned toward me, “Set yore ass back down-“
Hondo snatched the Kimber .45 from under his arm and he was fast.
But John Wesley was lightning.
I threw my coffee cup as John Wesley drew from under his vest and shot, blasting the cup out of the air, spraying ceramic shards and hot coffee across the room and then, in a move so fast I could barely follow it, whipped his pistol toward Hondo and fired.
Hondo was already rolling out of his chair and dropped behind it as the bullet cut air where he had been. Hondo popped up two feet further away with his pistol ready. Before Hondo could pull the trigger, John Wesley snapped two more hurried shots, knocking papers from the desk into Hondo’s face.
The cowboy continued his turn and sprinted out the door still firing into the office, but only hitting the walls and furniture.
Hondo went after him and I followed after I located the Walther, locking the office door behind me without slowing down. Marcus was right on my heels.
John Wesley had vanished. Several cars were leaving the gym’s full parking lot, but we couldn’t make out if he was in any of them. Marcus was behind us, still filming and saying as his voice quivered, “I got it, I got it.”
Hondo looked at his pistol and said, “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t catch him.” He showed me the .45. One of the cowboy’s bullets had hit the slide and a piece of copper jacket was wedged hard into it, leaving the slide partially open and the pistol inoperative.
Archie heard the shots and came out of the gym. A crowd followed him to us and we told them what had happened. Archie had called the police before coming outside, and we listened to the sounds of sirens approaching.
Hondo said, “Looks like we won’t get much done for a while.”
Marcus was still using the camera, “Don’t worry, guys. It’s all gold today.”
“For you maybe,” I said, “But the girl is still in danger.”
Marcus stopped filming for a moment, then nodded. “Whatever you two want to do, I’m with you.”
The police arrived and we were busy for the next several hours. It was going all right until the officers told Marcus they would need his video of the shootout for evidence.
Marcus clutched the camera to his chest and yelled, “No way man! This is my career!”
He took off running just as Emma drove up in her Beemer convertible and slid to a stop, saying “Marcus, what is it? What is it?”